


Soft

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:55:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27113629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Royal birthdays suck.
Comments: 17
Kudos: 60





	Soft

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The procession of present-laden glaives following Noctis’ every step is the single most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to him, and his whole _life’s_ been one big public embarrassment. His only solace is that the ‘party’—if it can even be called that—took place in the Citadel, so he doesn’t have to show his face outside. He knows there’s a horde of photographers on the steps. Their cameras flash right through the wide windows of every hall he passes. It’s been a rough journey up from the throne room. He can’t believe his father held his birthday party _in the throne room_. As if everyone isn’t already acutely aware that he’s _the prince of Insomnia._ That’s the only reason everyone came. Every noble-born kid in the kingdom even remotely close to Noctis’ age showed up, and Noctis isn’t friends with a single one of them, except for Gladiolus. And even he came in a uniform instead of a paper cone hat and played bodyguard all night as though a rogue ten year old might burst out of the human-high cake and try to assassinate Noctis.

Ignis wasn’t even there. Nobody wanted to tell him why, but Noctis isn’t too young to understand how shallow all the adults around him are. Ignis is too _low born_ to be seen at the _official royal party_. Noctis didn’t think it was possible to have a worse party than last year. But this one was, because he had to shake even more strangers’ hands and listen to even more useless platitudes and receive even more gifts he doesn’t want. Gladiolus marches in front of him, at the head of the ‘birthday boy’ parade, carrying so many wrapped boxes that they tower over his head. The one on top is a garish purple container full of designer hats, of all things, and his dad already said he’s not allowed to burn them.

Almost all of his ‘presents’ are burn-worthy. Every new one was more expensive and grand than the last, proving more and more that no one at the party really _knows_ him. It was a knife wound that just kept coming. 

To be fair, he knows he’s hard to shop for. He can already buy anything he wants. It’s not that he wanted anyone to buy him anything in particular. He just... wants to know that someone _sees_ him as more than Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum, heir to Insomnia’s throne. But that was wishful thinking. They wind up another flight of marble stairs, and he sees the glaives in his peripherals still coming around the corner, faces obscured by the giant stacks of boxes in their arms. One of them is even stuck with a bicycle, as though Noctis is allowed outside of the Citadel long enough to use one. 

By the time they finally reach his quarters, he’s in full _sulk_ mode, which he knows is just going to earn him another lecture come dinner time. His dad’s going to look across the feast of food and tell him to be _grateful_. And then he’s going to bite his tongue and not say that he would’ve much preferred to just spend the day with his dad instead. Or Ignis. He would’ve even rather had one of Gladiolus’ grueling training sessions. 

Gladiolus takes a comically long moment to get the door open, and Noctis is too busy moping to offer to help. He rudely waits until Gladiolus has juggled his armful around enough to get the knob. Then he’s pushing it open and calling, “You guys can leave the rest out here, I’ll bring it in.”

The nearest glaive nods and gingerly sets his box of striped suits down on a nearby end table. Noctis ignores all that and storms into his chambers. It’s not even five yet, but he’s seriously considering just sleeping early and skipping dinner and the study session he apparently still has to have later even though _it’s his birthday._

Gladiolus comes in behind him, follows him into the living room, and then Noctis stops short, because the rest of the room is blocked off by blankets. 

Before he can properly register what’s going on, Ignis is in his bubble, wrapping him up in a warm hug. There’s a split second of shock, and then Noctis melts into the touch like a chocolate bar in fire, gooey and sweet. Ignis’ hug is the exact opposite of all the stiff handshakes below, so wonderfully _personal_ , and Ignis chirps in his ear, “Happy birthday, Noctis.”

Noctis squeezes Ignis harder than he means to. He can’t help it. It’s just really nice to have someone _see_ him. Gladiolus’ hand clasps his shoulder. He lets it linger for as long as he can before he begrudgingly detangles. 

Then he gets a proper look behind Ignis, to where the entire room’s draped in bed linens, propped up and tied on rearranged furniture and lamps and even a few coat-racks that are probably from the lobby. Pillows line the floor underneath, stretching as far as Noctis can see, right into the bedroom. It’s like he’s looking over a cotton canopy. Gladiolus explains, “We couldn’t think of anything to get you that you don’t already have, so we figured we’d build you the most bad-ass pillow fort this side of Altissia.”

Noctis can feel his chest swelling. He looks around at the sturdy construction and comfortable design, genuinely in awe, but somehow what he says is: “There are better ones in Altissia?”

Gladiolus snorts. Ignis smiles wryly and says, “I doubt it. We worked pretty hard on this one.”

“Too hard,” Gladiolus agrees, making a show of rolling his shoulder. “You wouldn’t believe how demanding Iggy was about it—kept barking at me about getting the angles right, tying the knots tight enough, blah blah blah...”

“You’ll excuse me if I didn’t want it collapsing on Noct’s head the moment he crawled inside.”

Noctis isn’t really listening to their teasing banter—a comic book’s caught his eye, open under one of the makeshift tents. He ducks under the purple duvet to crawl over to it, only to notice the game system set up in the adjacent ‘room’. He follows it to a platter of the strawberry tarts Ignis has been trying to perfect lately. They’re small but lovingly arranged, and Noctis can’t help but think they look far more delicious than the generic birthday cake he had to share with the whole throne room. At least he doesn’t feel guilty for not saving Ignis a piece anymore—Ignis is definitely better than the royal chef.

Ignis is better than just about anyone, except maybe Gladiolus. They’re tied. They’re still chatting outside, while Noctis sits in the shadow of a patchwork quilt and really soaks in what they’ve done for him. 

Maybe it’s just that he was so down earlier, and his emotions feel so raw. He can feel water prickling at the corners of his eyes. He felt so invisible, but he should’ve known he was wrong. He’s _loved_. He wants more friends, but the ones he does have are the best in the world. Ignis gently calls, “Noctis? ...Do you like it?”

Noctis doesn’t crawl to the edge and poke his head out, because he doesn’t want them to see him all watery. He swallows it down and just says, “Yeah.” Hopefully Ignis can hear the appreciation in his voice and not the pathetic waver.

“Good. Are we allowed in?”

Noctis laughs. He crawls back to the gaming tent, mostly propped up by a flat screen TV mounted on the coffee table, and puts in the Justice Monsters X cartridge lying beside it. “Yeah, come in and play with me!”

Gladiolus grunts, “Way ahead of you,” and Ignis hums a pleased note and follows.


End file.
